


Lightning and Liquor

by Katkee



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Compliant, Gen, Overuse of italics, but they're speedsters so it's probably fine, i couldn't stop okay, if you were wondering, is about as close as i can get, non-romantic, now that 3.20 has aired, oh and maybe slight body horror?, overuse of ellipses, overuse of em dashes, possibly alcohol abuse, possibly not canon-compliant anymore, post-Flashpoint timeline but pre-ending scene of the episode Flashpoint, they consume a lot of alcohol, though what time it's set is... iffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 04:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10403526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katkee/pseuds/Katkee
Summary: So the Speed Force has a bar, and Eobard, who's been locked up for three months, can think of nothing better to do than take advantage of its refuge from the horrific Black Flash that's been chasing him. And hey, misery loves company—in this case, company comes in the form of a black-metal-and-blue-light fellow speedster.





	

**Author's Note:**

> At the end of a rant about time travel on Tumblr (hit me up @literallyflashtrash), I realized that the real question it was leading to was: _Can we write fanfiction where Eobard and Savitar get drunk together and complain about original timeline!Flash?_
> 
> Regardless of what actually happens on the show, the answer is _yes_.

The Speed Force, like any decent eternal, sentient realm from which vast stores of mystical energies can be drawn, has a bar.

And god, did Eobard need a drink.

He’d _just escaped_ from that _damn cage_ that _idiotic child of a Flash_ kept him penned up in for _three months_. And then he finds out that in this timeline, his—very—existence— _is a paradox?_ Thanks, Barr! Sure wish you’d _mentioned_ that before you begged me to restore this hell of a timeline.

At least the Speed Force offered a reprieve from that hideous creature that insisted on following him around on Earth. The twisted, demonic form of a fallen speedster… one, no doubt, condemned to its current wretched existence by none other than _Barry Allen_ …

He shuddered. He needed a drink. He _needed_ a drink.

So, the bar. Really, more of an echoingly empty room within which all sound reverberated mercilessly as though the very atoms of the air were like to rend themselves apart with even the slightest of noises.

But there was a bar, so who was he to complain? (Even if the bartender didn’t have a face—though there was something about that smooth, featureless form that reminded Eobard of a childhood friend he’d had, who he on a whim decided never to speak to again. The slightest inkling of guilt was starting to permeate his psyche suddenly—aaaaaaand _he needed a drink_.)

Before he could say anything to the disconcerting bartender, though, there was the oddest sound, halfway between the rustle of clothes and the screech of metal. Eobard, irritated, turned to see what insolent creature caused the noise that was keeping him from his well-deserved drink.

…Well. That was not what he expected. Though given that this was, after all, the Speed Force, perhaps a ten-foot-tall being composed of black metal and blue light shouldn’t be surprising.

Whoever this newcomer was, Eobard could feel the sheer fury radiating out from that robot-like frame. Eobard frowned. Maybe, as unlikely as it seemed, this guy needed a drink just about as bad as he did.

Eobard leaned over the counter and addressed the bartender as his soon-to-be acquaintance sank heavily onto a stool. “I’ll buy the first round for me and my friend here.”

With another dissonant screech, the other speedster turned to look at him.

Eobard raised his eyebrows. “Unless I’m wrong and you don’t need a drink?”

There was a heavy sigh, and then, in a metallic voice that was at once a growl and an aria, “Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a moment, while the unnerving mass of energy that approximated a bartender fixed their drinks. Eobard had been here before—he knew the drinks would provide no warmth or energy, just a bitter bare-minimum of a buzz that left his mouth numb.

Still, enough of it and he could get drunk, which was all he really wanted.

They both took a swig of the suspiciously-colored liquid and grimaced. It tasted like sunshine, a vague sense of loss, and ginger.  

“So what brings you to this corner of the Speed Force?” Eobard asked.

The newcomer gave him a dismissive glance and turned away.

“All right, I’ll go first.” Eobard was _dying_ for someone to talk to, _anyone_ but the Flash. (Well, he was dying in _general_ , but the same principles applied.) “You might have heard of me—I’m the Reverse Flash. I’m here because that—” His grip on his glass tightened so abruptly that it shattered, and he yanked the shards out of his glove viciously. “—that goddamn _hero_ locked me up for _months_ and then strands me in a timeline where I—” He laughed through gritted teeth and threw the handful of glass to the ground. The tinkling of the impact echoed oddly through the room. “— _I don’t even exist_ …”

The hatred, bitterer than the drink, buzzed through Eobard like adrenaline. Lightning darted around his fingers and his eyes glowed red before he got himself under control.

He laughed again, caustic and sharp, and addressed the bartender. “Get me another drink.”

The bartender turned toward him, its blank face somehow reproachful, and Eobard sighed. “ _Please_.”

“Wait,” the other speedster said, holding out a hand—claw, that was. “Are you talking about the _Flash_?”

On the last word, Eobard heard it—that familiar tone, the particular growl tagged onto the word ‘Flash’. He knew that sound. He knew that _hatred_.

Eobard nodded.

The speedster looked at the bartender. “This round’s on me.” Turning back to Eobard, he added, “The Flash is the reason I’m here.”

“Always nice to meet a fellow enemy of the Scarlet Speedster.” Eobard offered a grim smile. “The name’s Eobard.”

“Savitar.”

The bartender set down another pair of drinks. Eobard held up his glass.

“To the Flash’s downfall,” he proposed.

“To revenge.” Savitar clinked their glasses together. They both winced at the keening echo and took a drink.

* * *

It took a while before Eobard managed to coax the story out of Savitar. By this point, both were half past buzzed and quarter to drunk.

“Just because I made myself a speedster,” Savitar grumbled, “does not mean I’m evil.”

“Tell me about it!” Eobard lifted his glass in agreement. “But _no_ , the only legitimate speedsters according to our virtuous hero are those who’ve gotten their speed through accidents.”

“The Flash and his particle accelerator…”

“You know, in one of these timelines, _I_ caused the accelerator to explode. Meaning that—”

“That his speed wasn’t an accident?”

“Exactly. _Now_ who’s the villain, Flash…”

“And _what_ , exactly, is wrong with wanting speed? He chases after me like that’s a crime, I fight him, and you know what he does?” Savitar downed the rest of his drink and stared into the empty glass. “You know what that bastard did to me?”

Eobard shook his head and waved down the bartender to get Savitar another drink.

Savitar took a long drink before continuing. “Imprisoned me in the Speed Force.” There was a harsh sound, the shearing of metal, as Savitar shifted in his seat, and the blue glow burned brighter than before. “He locked me up in _a single repeating second_. Do you have any idea how _hard_ it is to escape _anywhere_ when every moment your progress is reset?”

He took another swig and glowered at nothing in particular. “Every—single—second. I couldn’t even _remember_ a single thing from one iteration to the next.”

“How’d you escape?”

Savitar gestured at the gaps in his metal exoskeleton, the ones spilling blue light. “When the Flash threw me into the Speed Force, _there were no holes in my armor._ ”

He finished off his drink and slammed the glass onto the bar. “I had to carve messages into my own body— _those_ stayed. _Those_ gave me enough information of what _didn’t_ work that, eventually, I dragged my way out of that hellish time loop. Only to find out that _I still can’t leave the Speed Force_.”

Unbidden, the bartender refilled his glass.

“Why not?” Eobard asked, thinking of the demon that mercilessly pursued him whenever _he_ left.

“The logic of a myth.” Savitar gave a wordless snarl. “The Speed Force accepts me prowling around within its borders, but if I want to leave…” He eyed Eobard suddenly in a way that put him immediately on edge. “…I need someone to take my place.”

Eobard sighed and slid off the stool. “After I bought you a drink? Here I was thinking we were getting on so well…”

“It’s nothing personal,” Savitar assured him, rising to his full height.

* * *

After a brief interlude of red and blue lightning, both speedsters, considerably more tired and no less in need of another drink, sank back onto neighboring barstools.

“I won. Your turn to buy,” Eobard said.

“That was what’s known as a draw, Thawne.”

“Your round anyway,” Eobard pointed out.

Savitar sighed. “Fine.”

They were silent for a few minutes, occupied in forcing down another of the disgusting drinks.

“I’ve spent an eternity here,” Savitar said finally.

“Well, you’re not using me to get out.”

“Clearly,” he grumbled. “All I really need is for someone to hand me the key to my prison. If I could get ahold of the Philosopher’s Stone…”

“All _I_ need,” Eobard muttered, “is a way to rewrite reality itself. Easy.”

“So you need the Spear of Destiny.”

The Spear of—oh. _Oh_. Yeah, Eobard had heard of that. Hmm.

“Any particular time period you were looking to get out?” Eobard asked, suddenly feeling far more amicable.

“2016 would be ideal.” Savitar’s voice betrayed the same hope Eobard now felt.

Eobard winced. “Not 2016. That time period would be—” He pictured the warped features of his newest enemy, imagined its reaction if he showed up within a decade of 2015. “—bad. But I can set things up so you get an escape route around that time.”

Savitar smiled. “To the Spear of Destiny, then!”

Eobard raised his glass. “To the Philosopher’s Stone!”

* * *

Somewhat later—hard to tell how long: time within the Speed Force could as easily be measured by the amount of alcohol consumed as by anything else, and, well, the amount of alcohol…

Suffice it to say that, were they not speedsters, both Eobard and Savitar would be long since dead.

As they _were_ speedsters, the main effect was that the conversation had devolved slightly.

“I hate the Flash,” Eobard grumbled.

“Me too.”

“His insistence on always playing the hero—”

“The _hypocrite_ , when he traps you in the past and me in the Speed Force—”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

They both fumbled for their glasses; they both proved too drunk to pick them up.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Savitar growled.

“ _I’m_ gonna kill him.”

“We can’t _both_ kill him.”

“Sure we can. We can run fast.” Eobard gestured vaguely. “Run fast, make new timelines. Kill him in all the timelines.”

Savitar’s eyes lit up, _literally_ , glowing brighter. “I like you, Eobard Thawne.”

“What’s the saying? Enemy of my enemy is… another, greater enemy?” Eobard frowned.

“I don’t think that’s the saying.”

“Oh.”

Quiet for a moment.

“I hate the Flash,” Savitar grumbled.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”


End file.
